


set all your mind upon the steep ascent

by elouanwrites



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Canon?, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I do what I want, Maul deserved better, Not Canon Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Timeline What Timeline, Trauma Recovery, Who is she?, Young Darth Maul, i don't know her.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28516737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elouanwrites/pseuds/elouanwrites
Summary: In which Maul, aged 9, decides he really doesn't like living with Master Sidious, actually, and would like to go far,faraway from him please. And who better to aggressively parent a traumatized, feral wildcat of a child than someone who has already done that,twice? Enter: Jaster Mereel, Mand'alor, Father, and In Over His Head.
Comments: 207
Kudos: 407





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

Maul’s hands were shaking. He glared at them, furious, struggling to repress the rumble in his chest as he willed them to hold still, but they wouldn’t. They just kept _shaking_ , trembling like spark-roach feelers, and he couldn’t keep them still. He balled them into fists, digging his nails into his palms, and hissed. It was never going to work, it was a _stupid_ plan, he’d be caught and—and _punished_ , what was he thinking he _wasn’t_ thinking it was stupid Master would be _furious_ he—his chest hurt and his legs were all wobbly and he—he couldn’t _breathe_ —

After a while, he wasn’t sure how long, Maul came back to himself huddled in a ball on the floor in the corner of the cargo bay, shaking and gasping, but he could breathe again so—so he was _fine_. But he was running out of time. If he was going to try, to—to _leave_ , and he didn’t know how much time he’d just wasted having some kind of _baby fit_ on the floor, he had to do it now. Master would come back to the ship soon, probably, and then it would be too late, they would be back on their way to Tosste. Maul didn’t know what was going to happen on Tosste, but he was certain it would be painful and he—he didn’t want it. He didn’t _want_ it.

His chest hurt. His chest hurt, and his breathing was weird, and his hands were _still shaking_ , but he was going to do it. He was going to leave. All he had to do was go to the control panel, and put in the code he saw Master use when he left. Master didn’t know he saw it, he was pretty sure. Master had never let him see anything like that before, so if he knew Maul was looking he would have covered his hand, right?

...But what if he _did_ know? What if it was another test? What if Master was waiting outside and if he put in the code and opened the door he _failed the test_ he couldn’t—fail _another_ test, he—no, _no_ , it wasn’t a test, it didn’t feel like a test, it felt—he felt—something, he didn’t know what he felt, but it was _something_ and he was going to do it. He just had to get up and go put in the code.

 _Get up_. He took a deep breath, then another one, straining his ears for any hint that Master had returned, but it was silent. One more breath. He stood, slowly, leaning against the wall, and paused to listen again. Still nothing. Master was gone. On shaky legs he crossed the small hold to the control panel next to the door, jerking to a halt in front of it. He stared at it, holding his breath for a moment then letting it out slow, pretending he couldn’t feel his whole body trembling.

Heart in his throat he darted his hand out, not giving himself time to think about it, and punched in the access code. The hiss of the hatch opening made him jump, somehow unprepared for the sound and the sudden movement. His eyes wide, his breath now coming in panicked gasps, he staggered out of the ship, ready at any moment to feel the sting of his failure but—Master wasn’t there. He _wasn’t_ , it _wasn’t a test_. He was out of the ship, away from Master, at least for now. But that was as far as his plan had gotten, and he had no idea where to go from there. With a hitching sob he wrapped his thin arms around his waist, staring at the deserted port, his mind blank.

No, not deserted. There was a ship in the adjacent dock being loaded with crates by a handful of droids, a being with scales like a lava eel and horns like Maul’s, holding a data pad shouting at them to hurry it up. Maul twitched forward a step, swallowing roughly as his eyes raced over the open cargo bay and jumbled stack of boxes and pallets. If they were in a hurry, then they must be planning to leave soon. If he could get on board without being seen, he could get far enough away from Master that maybe he wouldn’t be able to find him. Master always found him when he hid before, so he’d had a vague idea that he would just keep running, but he needed to sleep _sometime_ so if he was on a ship, he could—he’d be moving fast, in space, so he could sleep then.

And if he didn’t know where he was going then Master couldn’t just pull it out of his head and follow him. He knew Master could read his mind, he’d done it before, so if he just didn’t _know_ then maybe it wouldn’t matter. All he would need to do is keep hiding on ships and maybe—Master didn’t care about him, really, so maybe he would just—give up, if he kept going fast enough. Maul wasn’t worth that much trouble, he _couldn’t_ be, he failed _all the time_. Maybe Master wouldn’t even care that he was gone.

Holding that thought tight, Maul slunk his way into the shadows, flitting from one to the next as quietly as he could, and made his way toward the open cargo bay. The ship was shabby, patched with different colored metals, and the pilot was even shabbier. The crates were all unlabeled, but there were _remnants_ of labels on them, like someone had scraped them off with something sharp, but not very well. The droids loading the bay were even shabbier than the ship, and didn’t seem to be aware of much. The pilot looked sharp-eyed though.

Fortunately he seemed to be at least a little satisfied with the droids’ progress, because he left them to it and made his way into the ship. Maul waited for a moment, making sure he’d had time to leave the cargo bay and head further in before he made his own way toward the ramp. He timed it carefully, waiting until all five droids were occupied picking up the last few crates before he dashed behind them and up into the hold. Seeing no one, he quickly tucked himself in a corner behind a huge pile of already lashed down cargo, wiggling his way under a tarp lashed down over a small stack of boxes.

Hidden as well as he could manage, he tucked his arms around himself and held as still as possible, listening to the droids moving about and willing them to go faster. If Master returned to the ship and saw him missing before this one even left the port it would be—he didn’t want to think about how bad it would be. He hadn’t gone nearly far enough for Master not to be able to find him with ease once he started looking.

Luck was with him. It was only a few minutes before the droids were all clattering into the hold, and Maul heard the grinding, clanking sound of the hatch closing behind them. The ship rumbled to life only a moment later, the crates around him shaking with the engine’s rattle. Maul was starting to wonder if it would even be able to take off, with the way it sounded, when it suddenly jerked into motion.

He jumped, startled, as he felt the crates over his head shifted threateningly, but they didn’t tumble down and crush him. With the small amount of light filtering through the tarp he could just barely make out his own hands in front of his face. Rather than strain his eyes trying to see, he closed them and curled up into as small a ball as he could manage. Now that the ship was moving, the shivery tension was slowly, slowly draining from his limbs, leaving him shaking and numb.

Maybe it would be okay if he just— _slept_. There was nothing else he could do, really, either Master would catch the ship or he wouldn’t, so it would be okay to sleep, wouldn’t it? His head hurt, and he was cold, and he was _so tired_. He could sleep for a little while, then figure out what to do after that. He was away from Master, on a ship going somewhere hopefully far away, and that was what mattered. With one last hard shiver, he slowly drifted into a fitful sleep.

It seemed like no time at all, though, until a stab of blinding rage jerked him back awake with a bitten-off cry. Confused, dazed, he hid his head with his arms and waited for a blow to descend, but—nothing happened, _what_ —another harsh pulse of anger pounded through his mind and he choked back a gasp as _something_ raked through his thoughts with sharp claws and fury. _Master_ , Master _knew he was gone_ , he was going to find him, Maul was going to be _punished_ —no, _no_ he wasn’t, _Maul_ didn’t even know where he was so Master couldn’t pick it out of his head, he was still _safe_.

Shuddering, arms over his head, he waited for the raking claws and fury to subside. Eventually, after he wasn’t sure how long, they died down to a simmering rage with an edge of cold intent, and Maul slowly, cautiously relaxed. He swallowed roughly, carefully ignoring the wetness on his face as he pulled himself to sit upright. Based on how angry Master was, he probably _was_ going to come after him, so he would need a plan to keep moving long enough for him to hopefully decide Maul wasn’t worth the effort anymore, while still never knowing where it was he was going.

First, though, he needed to find supplies. He didn’t know how long he would be on the ship, but it had taken several days to get from Mustafar to wherever they had stopped on the way to Tosste, and while he’d gone longer without food before he would need water at least. Slowly, cautiously, he crept out from under the tarp, careful to make as little sound as possible. Fortunately the droids were all docked in charging stations, dark and silent, sensors probably powered down.

Flinching at each pulse of rage that set his head pounding, Maul crept unsteadily across the dark cargo bay, straining to hear any sound of movement from the ship’s pilot. Everything was quiet though, the bay empty except the powered down droids. The corridor beyond was dark and empty also, but there was a faint glow from the flickering light panels scattered along the walls. They seemed to be set on low power with how dim they were, but Maul could see in the dark really well so it wasn’t hard to make his way on quiet feet.

He passed two closed doors, one of them with a red light on the pad and one with blue, before he came to an open doorway with no door at all. The room beyond had some of the same type of machines as the little kitchen he was sometimes allowed in on Mustafar. Carefully he snuck across the room, keeping close to the wall, until he came to some cabinets. Holding his breath he eased one open, and the door slid silently to reveal what looked like ration packs. He let out a shaky breath, relieved to see a food he recognized, and grabbed a few from the back to stick in his shirt.

With a little more boldness he peeked into the other cabinets, finding colorful tubs and boxes that he didn’t recognize at all, so he left them alone. The last cabinet he looked in, one with a heavy door that stuck a little before swinging open, he found a bunch of squishy bulbs of liquid in different colors, and a whole big box of clear ones that looked like water. The bulb cabinet was _cold_ , even colder than the air in the ship, and it made Maul shiver. He’d been cold since they left Mustafar, but this was so much _worse._ Why would anyone want their cabinets so cold?

With a glance over his shoulder to make sure the pilot hadn’t come in without him hearing, Maul reached in and grabbed three of the clear bulbs from the back of the box and tucked them in his shirt with the ration bars. He almost yelped in surprise at how cold they were, much colder on his torso than his hands, but managed to stifle it into a strangled squeak. With enough now to keep him alive for a few days at least, Maul silently dashed back down the corridor to the cargo bay, stealthily moving around the walls on the far side of the droids back to his hiding place under the tarp.

In relative security once more, Maul slowly started to relax a little. He shoved the crates a bit to make enough room to lay down, and tucked his supplies in the very back of the little cubby. He wasn’t so hungry or thirsty that he needed to open them yet, which was good. Maybe the water would be less cold when he got thirsty enough. With Master’s attention fixed on something else, and not on scratching at his mind, Maul could get a little more sleep, maybe. He was _so tired_.

The next few days, or he thought it was days anyway, passed in a haze of sleeping and waking, hiding under the tarp and silently shaking through more furious rages from Master. Fortunately there was a tiny ‘fresher in the cargo bay, so he didn’t have to make a mess somewhere that would be found later. With careful conserving he _also_ didn’t have to sneak out into the main part of the ship again for more water, the last bulb still half full by the time the ship started shaking and rattling like it had when it was taking off. He needed to get out of the ship without being seen, once the bay was open. If Master ever met the pilot again he would be able to see where Maul had gone, if he wasn’t careful.

Clutching his remaining ration bar and the last of the water, Maul slowly, carefully crept out of his hiding place. The droids were still silent in their charging stations, so he had time to find a spot close to the hatch that he could leap out from when it opened. With a heavy jerk that made Maul’s teeth clack together, stirring his near constant headache roaring back to life, the ship landed. The hatch hissed and groaned it’s way open almost immediately, and as the droids behind him started beeping and twitching to awareness Maul slipped out the still partially closed hatch and dropped to the ground.

There were other people in the port, but it was night time and, at least from what he could see with a quick glance, nobody seemed to be looking in Maul's direction. Keeping his eyes down, doing his best to not get a good look at where he was, he dashed into the closest opening between two large buildings and out of sight before the pilot of the ship had time to even turn off the engines. He was away, on a completely different planet from Master, somewhere he had no idea to look.

Suddenly shaking, his hands trembling so hard he almost dropped his supplies, Maul stumbled around the side of a big bin of trash and slumped to the ground, curling up in the shadows. His chest hurt again but it was almost— _good?_ Like pressure coming off his chest when he’d been crushed under something for a while, like he’d been trapped but suddenly wasn’t, and it _hurt_ but it was—something. Good.

It made him shaky though, and his breathing was weird again, so he stayed in between the buildings until he was fine again. He should find another ship to hide on and go somewhere else, keep moving, but maybe he could find some more supplies first. And something to cover his face, like Master’s robe, so people couldn’t see him.

Just as he was about to go see what he could find, he felt Master scratching at him again, sharp and cold and so _angry_ , so he dropped back down and buried his face in his hands so he couldn’t see anything. All he’d seen from the ship to the little corner he was in was a dirty space port, with only a few ships and people too far to see properly. Master wouldn’t find anything in his mind, he _wouldn’t_. He’d kept his eyes down the whole time. Still, better to be quick with his plan and get on another ship soon, just in case.

As soon as Master had stopped, Maul dragged himself to his feet, took a deep breath, and cautiously crept toward the other side of the buildings. There were more people over there, walking back and forth across the opening. So many _different_ looking people. None of them looked like Maul, but some of them looked a little bit like Master. Most of them, though, didn’t look anything like _either_ of them.

Keeping his eyes away from signs, not looking up very often, Maul edged out into the open space. There were vehicles going down the middle, and people walking on the sides, so he kept to the sides also. Nobody looked at him. He could feel them as they passed, and they weren’t paying attention to him at _all_. He felt a little braver, and started glancing to the sides into the openings between the buildings as he went past them, looking for anything that might be useful.

Mostly he saw trash, or sometimes people sitting on the ground. When the people sitting saw him looking they looked _back_ , their notice making his skin shiver with unease, and he desperately willed them to _stop looking_. To his shock, it _worked_. The people who noticed him started making a weird face, like they were confused, then looking away again. He kept it up, wishing as hard as he could that no one would look at him, no one would see him or remember him as he slowly made his way along the open space.

He started smelling something after a little while, something he’d never smelled before that made his stomach go tight and twisty like he hadn’t eaten in too long. It smelled... _hot_. Hot, and _familiar_ , but he knew he’d never smelled anything like it on Mustafar. Curious and suddenly a lot hungrier than he had been before he smelled it, he followed the smell between a couple buildings and away from the open space. There was no one sitting in this narrow gap, so he hopped over the piles of trash without hesitating and dashed to the other end before slowing to a halt.

The open space on this side was smaller, with no vehicles in the middle, but there were just as many people as there were in the other one. There were also little tiny buildings though, set up in front of the large ones, and the smell was coming from one of those. There were more smells, too, but none of the rest were as—as _nice_ as the one from that little building. Keeping up his desperate wish that no one look at him, he crept closer to get a better look.

There was writing on a sign in front, but he couldn’t read it at all. It didn’t look like any letters he’d ever learned. There _were_ pictures though, and it looked a little like the food that Master ate sometimes, but it was all _red_. It smelled even hotter up close, in a way that made his nose tickle and his mouth water.

Distracted, he almost didn’t notice that someone was _looking_ at him, but when he glanced around to see if any of the other little buildings had anything similar to the red stuff he saw a couple people wearing all metal turned to face right at him. The taller one had red marks on his head, and the shorter one had blue marks, and Maul had never seen anything like what they were wearing. He—they didn’t feel like _anything_ , not even the weird buzzy feel that droids had. He froze, his blood thundering loud in his ears as the bigger one tilted their head to the side. Maul swallowed roughly, edging a step back toward the gap behind him. They were _too close_ and they were _looking at him_ what if they remembered him later and Master _saw_?

The tall one lifted his hands to his head, and Maul flinched back another step, but all he did was lift the metal off it, and—Maul could feel him, sudden and startling. The metal had been—had _hidden_ him. With a hitching gasp Maul scrambled back into the shadows, even as the tall one frowned and stepped toward him. He didn’t chase, though, and Maul stopped when he was just out of sight, watching the tall one peer into the darkness at him. He thought as hard as he could about being invisible, his blunted nails digging into his palms, and it _worked_ that time, but—only on the one who took the metal off his head. He made the same face as everyone else had, looking away and walking up to the little building with the red food. The other one kept looking into the shadows for a moment, then slowly followed the other one.

The metal thing on his head hid him. Maul couldn’t feel him until he took it off. Then his wishing didn’t work, until the metal thing was off too. Maybe—the metal thing, maybe it could hide _Maul_. If he could take it, and get away after, maybe he wouldn’t _have_ to keep hiding on ships. Maybe he could just...find somewhere safe, and _stay_ there, and Master still wouldn’t find him. All he had to do was take it and run, and if he was _fast_ enough, he would be _safe._

Rubbing at his aching chest, trying to keep his breathing even, Maul slowly started creeping back toward the opening. He was fast, he could do it. He _could_.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy saturday beautiful people (ﾉಥДಥ)ﾉ✧・ﾟ:* your comments feed me, they are my life blood, my bread and wine (by which I mean they're motivating as HECK for my writing vibes, bless u) so ty for the great reception for the first chapter of this!
> 
> updates will continue to rotate with _lost beneath the turning wheel_ ~

* * *

Jaster was having a very, _very_ good day. It wasn’t often that he had the free time anymore to go hunting with his son, so when he did it was a rare treat indeed. Especially when it was for a quarry like the man they’d just turned in to the bounty office. An absolute monster of a man, a serial kidnapper who targeted children to wring money out of their frightened parents, but also a highly skilled combatant. It was always nice when Jaster had the opportunity to enjoy the thrumming satisfaction of not only taking down someone truly vile, but also getting a decent challenge out of him.

It didn’t hurt that he’d been able to show his son that the old man still had skill, either. The boy had sounded gratifyingly impressed by the time Jaster had their quarry trussed up on the ground in that warehouse. Maybe next time Jaster had to stay behind to deal with bickering clan heads or logistics catastrophes, Jango would have the decency to not look so damn _smug_ about it.

Speaking of Jango, the tilt of his helmet as they were waiting for their food was a strangely speaking one, for how mundane their current activity was. Jaster raised a brow at him, his own helmet tucked under his arm as he leaned against the food stall’s decently sturdy post. “Problem? I thought you liked Akivan food.”

The tilt of Jango’s helmet was starting to look _concerned_ , and Jaster frowned, baffled. “Really?” his son asked, the disbelief in his voice clearly audible even through the vocoder. “That’s it? You’re not even going to buy the kid a meal?”

Jaster stared for a moment, then glanced around looking for the kid he’d apparently missed, but the only children he saw looked to be perfectly well-attended. Bemused, he turned back to his son with another frown. “ _What_ kid?”

Before Jango could answer, their food was up. Distracted, the conversation already slipping from his mind, Jaster turned to grab their to-go boxes. Picking up the little stacks, Jaster suddenly realized with a quiet curse that he’d forgotten to leave a tip. He set his helmet down on the counter to reach into a pouch on his belt for a credit chip. He couldn’t have the hard-working people of Nal Hutta thinking the Mand’alor was a cheapskate, after all.

Before he could even get his fingers under the edge of the pouch flap, his helmet was snatched off the counter by a pair of small, starkly black and red hands. With a startled yelp, Jaster dropped the food back on the counter and jerked around to stare in abject disbelief. Who would have the absolute _gall_ to steal a mandalorian’s helmet, right in _front of them?_ Fortunately, he recovered from his shock quickly. He took off after the little thief, Jango pelting after him with a sharp curse.

“ _That_ kid!” his son shouted behind him. “You looked right at him a few minutes ago!”

Jaster grimaced as he ran, wracking his memory but for some reason failing to pull up any images of the child scrambling through the crowd in front of him, despite their distinctive coloring and small horns. A zabrak, possibly, but not a zabrak like he’d ever seen before. He hissed through his teeth as the kid darted into an alley, putting on a bit more speed and dodging pedestrians as he pushed at his strangely fuzzy memory of the last few minutes.

Karking _mind tricks_. Of course. He should have known something was off the first time Jango mentioned a child he hadn’t seen. But why in the ka’ra’s name would a force user care if he had eyes on some random street child? Whatever was going on, he’d have to get to the bottom of it _after_ he got his helmet back from the little bandit.

As he rounded the corner into the alley, he felt himself slow unconsciously. It seemed much less important to go this way than it had a moment ago. There was no reason for him to be in this alley, after all. He stopped, breathing slow and even, deliberately not considering anything but replenishing the oxygen in his body as he pushed, pushed, _pushed_ at whatever thought it had the _right_ to muck around in his head.

Jango skidded to a stop next to him, hand on his blaster as he looked around the refuse-strewn alley. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low as he peered into the shadows of piles of trash.

Jaster raised a hand, his eyes closed as he hissed through his teeth. His son fell silent, radiating concern with every line of his frame, and pulled the blaster out of its sheath as he stood ready to defend. _Jango_. His _son_ was in that alley with him. How was he supposed to protect his son if he didn’t fully have his wits about him? The thought of Jango being in danger was the last push he needed.

He felt something give, like a distant shatter of glass, and at the same time there was a sharp hiss from the shadows ahead. With a soft huff of satisfaction, his head now clear, Jaster strode forward, unhesitating, toward the noise. Stepping around the corner of a tumbled pile of what looked like broken fiber-grown furniture, he spied a faint gleam, a reflection of the light from the nearby street on the metal of his helmet. Tucked deep under an overhang of the pile was a small, skinny, red and black child, hugging Jaster’s helmet with one arm and brandishing what looked like half of a chair leg with the other.

A _very_ small child. Jaster’s confident stride stuttered to a halt as he finally got a good look at the little thief. Their teeth were bared, and he could just hear a hesitant, stuttering growl coming from them in fits and spurts and quickly being suppressed. Wide gold eyes were flicking wildly from Jaster to Jango and back, as they pressed further back into the shallow cavern under a broken table. They were barefoot, dressed in a filthy black tunic and pants, the thinness of their wrists clearly evident with the too-short sleeves. There was a nasty cut bleeding sluggishly on one foot, probably the reason the kid stopped running to hide instead.

All of that was bad enough, but it was the sight of numerous scars peeking out from under the edges of their ill-fitting clothes that had Jaster’s blood suddenly boiling. Someone had hurt this child, hurt them _badly_. And if he was accurately judging the relative ages of the scars he could see, _repeatedly_. He waved Jango back a step, then slowly crouched down to not loom quite so badly over them, and pulled as soft a smile to his face as he could manage with the rage building in his chest.

“Hey kid,” he said quietly, showing his empty hands palm up. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise, but I’m afraid I do need that back.”

The kid stared, still wide-eyed and breathing fast, and somehow managed to squirm back a little farther into the pile. “...No,” they whispered after a moment, pulling the helmet even closer. The edges were going to leave bruises if they clutched at it any harder. “I n-need it, so—so just— _go away_.”

Jaster blinked, halfway to his feet already before he realized why his head felt fuzzy all of a sudden. It was the _kid_. The kid was the force user. Well, that certainly made a lot more sense than some random meddling bystander, but he didn’t know they _had_ that kind of abilities that young. He shook his head roughly, waving off Jango’s sudden concerned jerk, and crouched back down.

“That’s not gonna work on me again, kid,” he said gently, with a sympathetic quirk of his lips. “Now, what do you need my helmet for? Maybe we can help you out.”

Before the little thief even had the chance to answer his question they jerked, their eyes slamming closed as they wavered, dropping the stick to clutch at their head with a high-pitched whine. Jaster lunged forward, hands reaching to catch the kid before they fell over, but with a frantic scramble the kid lurched back up with their eyes still shut tight and shoved Jaster’s helmet over their head. With how small they were, the horns weren’t enough to keep it from fitting, and in short order they had his helmet on and the chair leg was snatched back up in a trembling hand, sweeping out in a surprisingly steady and practiced swing that Jaster had to dodge back to evade.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the sound of the kid breathing hard enough in Jaster’s helmet to be audible over the speaker. “ _No,_ ” they gritted out, the modulating effect of the vocoder somehow making them sound even younger. “It—it _works_ , I _need it,_ so just— _please_ , just go away!”

The sheer desperation in the kid’s voice brought a knot to Jaster’s throat, and he had to swallow before he could speak evenly. No child should have to sound like that, not ever. “How about this,” he started carefully, “You can keep wearing it, but you have to come with us back to our ship. Then we can figure out something else that will do what you need it to do, and we can trade. You get the new thing, and I get my helmet back. Does that sound fair?” The kid was _shaking_ , and Jaster ached to reach out to them, but judging by their tight grip on that chunk of trash he’d likely get himself stabbed for it.

They didn’t answer for a long, long moment, but slowly the shaking subsided to a faint trembling, and the end of the improvised weapon dipped lower. “...I—yes, if I can k-keep it on, then—then I’ll come with you.” They paused for a moment, then brandished the stick a bit with what was likely as menacing a posture as they could muster. “But if you touch me _I’ll kill you._ ”

Jango’s hastily muffled snort at the threat made it even harder for Jaster to repress his own charmed smile, but somehow he managed it. “That’s fair,” said calmly, raising his hands. “But your foot looks pretty painful, are you sure you don’t want me to carry you? I won’t if you don’t want me to, but I don’t mind at all.”

The kid was quiet for a while again, before answering. Jaster wished he could see their face. Something about his question seemed to unsettle them, judging by the strange tension in their frame. “No,” they said finally, their tone flat through the speaker. “D-don’t touch me. It’s _fine_.”

Well, fuck. Jaster really didn’t want to lead a kid with an open wound through Nal Hutta’s filthy streets, all the way to the space port. It wasn’t _that_ far, even on foot, but _still_. “How about this,” he said, trying to keep his tone reasonable rather than pleading, “Do you know how to put on a bandage? I can give you one for your foot so it doesn’t get worse while we walk, is that okay?”

“Of course I know how to use a bandage, I’m not a _baby_ ,” came the sharp reply, with an offended tip back of Jaster’s helmet, like the little bandit was baring his teeth behind the beskar. Jango snorted again, and Jaster just barely refrained from rolling his eyes in response. As though his son was any less prideful at that age, _honestly_. Keeping his movements slow and non-threatening, Jaster reached into his belt pouch for a small, emergency bacta patch and held it out toward the kid, close enough to reach but not so close they would feel crowded.

The kid made no move to take it, though, pulling back defensively. “What is that?”

Jaster frowned, motioning toward the kid’s still bleeding, filthy foot. “A bacta patch, for your cut.”

“I thought—you said a bandage.” Their little hands tightened on the stick, and they pulled their knees up close. “I know what a _bandage_ is, that’s not—is—is this a test?”

The bewildered fear in that young voice made Jaster’s breath catch, and he had to struggle for a moment to keep his composure. “No, kid,” he said gently, setting the patch on the ground and shuffling a little further away. “It’s not a test, I promise. A bacta patch is a type of bandage, better than the regular kind. You just tear it open and peel off the white side, and stick it on the cut. It’ll feel a lot better."

* * *

Maul flicked his gaze from the person to the little package he left on the ground. It didn’t _look_ like a bandage, but it also didn’t look like something that could hurt him if he touched it. He’d been wrong about that before, but—it was _small,_ so even if it _was_ a test and it hurt him, it shouldn’t be too bad?

Slowly, carefully, he reached out of the shelter of the trash pile and let his fingers brush the edge of the thing, the—the bacta patch. It didn’t do anything, so he picked it up, keeping his eyes on the person just in case. He didn’t grab though, he just crouched there and _smiled_ at him. His smile wasn’t—it didn’t feel sharp, it felt—Maul didn’t know how it felt, but it was—not bad, maybe.

“Don’t come close,” he said sharply, warning them away with his club. He was fast enough to set the club down to open the thing, and still be able to pick it up in time to fight if they moved, probably. The shorter one was further away, and the taller one was crouched down, not ready to fight. He set it down, resting the not-sharp end against his thigh, and carefully tore open the wrapper on the bacta patch. It had a flat thing inside with one white side, like the person had said.

Keeping a sharp eye on both of them, Maul slowly peeled off the white part. It was sticky and red underneath, and smelled really strange, but when he touched it with his finger it didn’t hurt. Maybe it _was_ a bandage. At least it probably wouldn’t make his foot worse. If he hadn’t tripped when he cut it he could have kept running, it wasn’t so bad, but it would be good to not get an infection if the thing worked.

Decided, he carefully put the sticky part on the cut, watching the crouched person out of the corner of his eye the whole time. He looked relieved, when Maul used the thing, the bacta patch, and his smile was still not sharp. As he finished smoothing down the edges of the thing, he noticed that his foot was starting to feel better. He sucked in a sharp breath, cautiously poking at the middle of the cut through the bacta patch, and it—it felt _better,_ it hurt less already, like it was almost _healed_ , what—

He looked up to stare at the person, eyes wide, something weird and twisty in his chest. The person just gave Maul something really good, and Maul hadn’t even done anything to _earn_ it. Maybe—maybe he would do what he said? Maybe he _would_ give Maul something that worked like the metal thing, the helmet, something that would keep Master out of his head.

He took a deep breath, picked up his club again, then cautiously crawled out from under the trash pile. The person waited until Maul was standing up and could run before he got off the ground, and he didn’t try to grab, just stood up and stepped back a bit. Keeping an eye on them, Maul stepped down on his cut foot, and it almost didn’t hurt at _all_.

“Bacta patch, it’s—it works,” he said quietly, still watching the people warily.

The tall one smiled more. “I’m glad,” he said, tucking his thumbs in his belt. “My name is Jaster, and this is my son Jango. What’s your name?”

Maul glanced between them, confused. They just had names, like Maul? No titles, like Master had? “...Maul,” he answered after a bit, when they just stood there and waited. The shorter one had put his blaster away, and it helped Maul relax a little bit. Blaster bolts hurt a _lot_.

“Well, Maul, it’s nice to meet you, even if you _did_ run off with my helmet,” the tall one said with a short laugh. His laugh didn’t sound sharp either. Maybe he just...wasn’t sharp at all? “Alright, let’s head for the ship and see about getting you a new hat.” He turned to the shorter one, still smiling, and gave him something out of his pocket. “Jango, can you run back and get the food, if they haven’t thrown it out yet? And some extra for our new friend, of course.”

Maul frowned, glad his face was hidden and they couldn’t see. He didn’t understand _anything_ that was going on, but—the helmet worked, Master had started scratching at him and when he put it on the scratching stopped, so if they let him keep it he would go with them. They were faster than him, after all, he admitted to himself with a grimace. The tall one was catching up even before he fell, they would have caught him eventually. This way at least, they were letting him wear the helmet.

And they had a ship, the person said, so maybe after they traded the helmet for the other thing Maul could sneak back onto it, and they would take him somewhere else, just in case. Then...maybe after that, he could find somewhere safe to stay for a while, where Master couldn’t find him.

The sound of his name from the person, from _Jaster_ , jerked Maul out of his thoughts, and he jumped a little bit. Jaster’s face went twisty, like he felt bad for scaring him, and that was—it made his throat hurt a little. Maul didn’t like it. “What?” he asked, sharp.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Jaster said, quiet. “I was going to ask if you would come with me to the ship, while Jango grabs our dinner from the food stall.”

He must be talking about the little building, with the red food. Food stall. Maul committed the words to memory, determined to find another food stall and get some of the red food someday. The hot smell was...interesting.

“Fine,” he said, as strong as he could. He was starting to get a little shaky, but he didn’t want to take his rations out of his shirt in front of the—in front of Jaster, in case he would take it. He’d wait, until no one was looking. The helmet wasn’t so tight that he couldn’t get a ration bar into it, probably, so he could eat it when Jaster was distracted with his dinner.

“Come on then,” Jaster said with _another_ smile, did he ever _stop?_ “If we don’t get there before Jango does I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Cautiously, Maul followed after Jaster, keeping his attention split between him and the rest of the people in the open space, careful to stay out of grabbing range. He would go with them, and they would trade a new thing to keep Master out of his head for the helmet, and then he would figure out where to go after that.

And if they tried anything, if they _hurt_ him, he would _kill them_. Maul was fast and strong, and even though Jaster was faster, he wasn’t as strong as Master was.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧ your comments fuel me, and all you regular commenters _i would die for you_

* * *

Jaster kept the vast majority of his attention on the small form cautiously trailing him through the street market, sparing barely a fraction for his usual watch for threats. He had no intention of losing either his helmet _or_ the child into the depths of Nal Hutta, and he didn’t quite trust a frightened kid to keep their word, no matter how firmly they gave it. It seemed, though, that either Maul meant what they said, or they just had nowhere else to go, because there was no indication that they were looking for an escape route as they followed him toward the port.

He did note, however, that they seemed just as wary of random civilians getting too close as they had Jaster and Jango, so it wasn’t the armor and weapons that were the issue there. That was good for their future interactions, at least. The generalized wariness though, likely indicated Maul felt the potential for threat from _everyone,_ which twisted something deep in Jaster’s chest. Even other children were carefully avoided, the visor of Jaster’s helmet tracking any bodies that got within a few arms’ length of the kid whether they were attached to likely threats or not.

When out of the corner of his eye, Jaster saw the little thief skipped sideways to avoid a human _toddler_ coming within a few feet of him, his breath caught in his chest and he grimaced, dismayed. What could have happened to this kid, to make them shy away from a child barely old enough to be running around? He almost didn’t want to find out, except for the urge to make whoever was responsible _pay for it_.

The kid still had a tight grip on the fiber-grown chair leg, which got them a few strange looks from passers-by (or maybe that was the too-large mandalorian helmet rattling around on their little head). Jaster would have to get them a more effective security weapon, once they were a little more settled and less likely to react badly to things. Maybe a small knife? A proper blaster might be a bit much for one that young, but a small knife, and maybe a stun blaster, that would probably suit.

Jaster was still considering what models of stun blaster might fit Maul’s small hands when the crowd started to thin as they left the street market and headed into the space-port proper. The kid was much less twitchy, not having to sidle around and dodge as they walked. Jaster kept his body language open and relaxed, hands visible but thumbs tucked in his belt, and was pleased to see the kid unconsciously responding to him by drifting a bit closer, which was easily done at the slow pace Jaster was setting in deference to the small thief’s damaged foot. Though without the visible bandage, there would have been no sign the child was even injured, with how little care they took to avoid stepping on the wound, Jaster noticed grimly. High pain tolerance, even with bacta numbing the pain.

Jaster’s ship was fortunately docked toward the edge of the port, so they reached it in short order once they left Nal Hutta’s thoroughfare. Maul got twitchier again as they approached it, but Jaster was pleased to see that they didn’t open the distance between them again, still following along a few arms’ lengths away. They hesitated at the hatch as Jaster opened it and stepped onto the metal and into the hold, but after standing there for a moment, clenching and unclenching their hands, they followed him into the ship.

“Welcome aboard,” Jaster said quietly, not wanting to startle the kid again. When they’d flinched earlier just from him saying their name, he’d been unable to keep his expression even, his palms itching to get around the neck of whoever made the child so wary. The harsh tone of the kid’s reply, though, seemed to indicate that they didn’t appreciate Jaster’s grimace, so he determined to keep as calm and friendly as possible. Judging by how Maul was hugging the edges of the space, protecting their back, that was his best bet to keep them calm.

“How about we get that foot cleaned up and rebandaged before Jango gets here with the food, hm?” he asked eventually, nodding toward the fresher as he tapped the panel and opened the door. "You could probably do with a shower, too, now that I think about it."

The kid’s hand tightened on the stick, and they took a half step back and bumped up against the wall of the ship. “I can do it myself,” they said quickly, voice tight, as though he expected Jaster to grab them and drag them into the sonics or something.

Jaster took a slow breath, then dragged a small smile to his face. “Of course you can,” he said cheerfully, stepping through the fresher door and gesturing toward the water shower. “I’ll just show you how the controls work, then find you something clean to wear, alright? And don’t worry about getting water on my helmet, it’ll dry and the water won’t hurt it.” Sonic may do the job, but there was nothing like warm water when you were feeling out of sorts, it might help the kid calm down a little more.

The kid froze, having hesitantly started to follow Jaster’s lead, visor trained on Jaster’s face. “...How would I get water on it?” they asked slowly, tense and suspicious. “I don’t _have_ any water.”

Something about the insistent way Maul declared their lack of water rang as false to Jaster, but that thought was lost in the sudden understanding that this kid had no idea what a shower was. He was going to have to carefully evaluate everything he said to Maul for potential misunderstandings, as clearly their life up to this point was far from what it should have been, what with such significant gaps in their knowledge as _bacta_ and _showers_.

The scope of what he had, somewhere in the back of his mind, already admitted that he was taking on, was coming clear. Maul definitely couldn’t be dumped into some run-of-the-mill fosterage, they were far too ready to respond to threat with violence. Even the average mando’ad might have trouble with a kid so damaged. Jaster suddenly smiled, rueful. At least Arla would be pleased to no longer be the “problem child” of the family.

“We have both sonics and water showers on this ship,” Jaster explained, keeping his voice even. “I like to have a warm water shower when I’m hurt, it feels better than the sonics do. I thought you might like one as well. I can show you how it works, or if you’d rather just use the sonics that’s fine too.”

“Sonics,” Maul said immediately, visor still trained on Jaster. “I know how it works, you don’t—I don’t need you to show me.”

“Alright,” Jaster said simply, stepping back out of the fresher and heading toward Jango’s bunk instead, keeping Maul in his peripheral. “You go ahead, then, and I’ll grab you something clean to put on after. I’ll leave it outside the door for you, you can grab it when you’re done.”

Maul waited until Jaster was well out of reach before moving toward the ‘fresher, but eventually slipped into the cramped space and closed the door. Jaster took a moment to lean his forehead against the ship and breathe deep, trying to corral his racing thoughts into something approaching a plan of action. First step, find something old enough of Jango’s that it wouldn’t just slide off the slip of a child. His son rarely threw anything out that might be useful, so there was probably something stashed away in a drawer. Second step, feed the kid, which had to wait until they were out of the sonics and Jango had returned with the food.

Third step...he’d get to that eventually.

* * *

Jango felt an itch between his shoulder blades the entire way back to the food stall. He did _not_ like leaving his buir alone with that weird kid after he’d been acting so strange, but what else was he going to do? Jaster had obviously gotten attached, just like he did with every sad, pathetic creature that crossed his path and tried to bite him. Jango could see it in his eyes as he sent Jango back for the food. His buir would either make sure the little thief was settled somewhere safe, _personally_ , or he’d adopt them himself. _Kark_.

Trying to resign himself to dealing with a feral child for the foreseeable future occupied Jango’s thoughts the entire way to the food stall, during the wait for another meal to be boxed up, _and_ all the way back to the port. Kids were unpredictable, wild animals at the _best_ of times, in the most ideal of circumstances. This...was going to be a _disaster_.

By the time he got back to the ship, Jaster was slumped in a chair in the galley, head on the table, and the kid was out of sight. Judging by the sound of the sonics running in the fresher and the little pile of clothing outside it with a bacta patch resting on top, they hadn’t run off with his buir’s helmet again. That was something, at least. Jango dropped his burden next to Jaster’s head with a thump, and flopped down in the chair next to him.

“So…” he started, then trailed off awkwardly, staring up at the ceiling.

“Yup,” Jaster replied into the table, muffled by his arms.

Jango sighed, slumping down lower in his seat. “You’re keeping them, aren’t you?”

“The likelihood is high,” his buir admitted immediately, still muffled.

Jango rolled his eyes with another sigh, but even as he made to slip lower in the chair in resigned dismay, the fresher door slid open and a small hand cautiously reached out to poke the pile of clothes. Jaster had jerked upright at the sound, so the two of them watched silently as tiny black and red fingers tested the innocuous stack of what looked like Jango’s old tunic and pants, as though the hand’s owner was expecting a mine to be hiding underneath it. Maul having clearly decided it was, indeed, what it appeared to be, the pile was pulled into the fresher and the door closed once more.

“I would very much like to cause someone a great deal of harm,” Jaster mused idly, still staring down the corridor.

Kark. They were _definitely_ keeping the kid. With another deep sigh, this one from the very depths of his soul, Jango pulled off his helmet and set it on the table, then started pulling open the boxes of food. “Hope the kid likes spice, because that was all they had.”

His buir quirked a smile, still distracted watching for Maul to come back out but listening. “If not, I’m sure we can figure out something to feed them from what we have on board. I’d bet spice will be fine though, zabraks tend to be fond of heat in their food, in my experience.”

“So they’re a zabrak, then?” Jango asked, muffled, already shoving half his dao-ben into his mouth and talking through the spiced meat and fluffy dough to Jaster’s obvious disgust. “Thought I saw horns, but I’ve never seen a zabrak that color before.”

Jaster hummed noncommittally, shrugging one shoulder. “That’s all I can think of that fits, but you’re right. Maybe a mix?”

Jango hummed back, leaning over a bit to see as the fresher door slid open again. The kid was practically swimming in his old tunic, and the legs of the pants were rolled up several times and still dragging the ground. With Jaster’s over-sized helmet still awkwardly perched on their head, they were...kind of ridiculously cute, actually.

“I guess we could always ask,” Jango said thoughtfully. “Hey, kid!” he called down the hall, waiting until he got an acknowledging tilt of the helmet to ask, “What are you?” His buir’s groan of embarrassment was music to his ears, and he happily stuffed the rest of his dao-ben into his mouth. Akivan food really was delicious.

* * *

Maul stared at the shorter person, bewildered and alarmed by the sudden question. What... _was_ he? What kind of answer did the person, _Jango,_ his name was Jango, what—what kind of answer did he want from Maul? Master said he hadn’t proved worthy of being called apprentice, so he wasn’t that. He wasn’t a droid, so—a person? But Maul was _obviously_ not a droid, he wouldn’t need to _ask_ that, so it had to be something more specific. What if he answered wrong? Would—would they take the helmet away?

He noticed abruptly that he _hadn’t answered yet,_ and both of the people were frowning at him. He twitched, his hand tightening on his club just in case as he took a step back. Master called him boy, sometimes, instead of his name, maybe that was what he—what _Jango_ wanted.

“...A—a boy?” he offered hesitantly, shifting from foot to foot. Would that be good enough?

The people looked at each other, and their eyebrows went up like he’d said something strange. Maul shifted again, watching for any sign he would need to run, but—they were just sitting. They didn’t _look_ mad, but that didn’t really mean anything, Maul wasn’t _stupid._

“Well,” Jaster said, smiling again, “That answers _a_ question, if not _the_ question.”

Despite himself, Maul felt his breathing speed up and his mouth go dry. He _got it wrong_. “S-sorry,” he said quietly, his gut sinking. Maybe if he just admitted it, they wouldn’t try to punish him for failing. “I d-don’t know the answer.” And anyway, they weren’t Master, if they _tried_ to punish Maul he would—he could fight them, he _could._

Jango was staring at him again, looking confused, but still not angry. “That’s...fine,” he said after a moment, and he _sounded_ confused too. Maybe—was Maul’s answer right after all? “We were just curious. Come get some food.”

There were three boxes on the table, and the hot smell from the food stall was coming from them. Maul had snuck a couple bites of his ration bar while he was in the fresher and they couldn’t see, but the smell was still making his stomach tight and twisty. If they were going to give him another ration bar, he could keep the rest of his last one for later. When he got closer though, he didn’t see any rations on the table at all, just the boxes, and he stopped a few arms away, not willing to get any closer when he didn’t know what the trick was.

Jaster tilted his head, and his brows were pinched in the middle. “Do you not like spicy food?” he asked quietly.

Maul frowned, his face safely hidden by the helmet. He didn’t know what that was, and even though Master didn’t like Maul to ask questions, he couldn’t _answer_ if he didn’t know what it was. Or he could just... _say_ that, say that he hadn’t had it before and didn’t know. That was an answer. And anyway, Master wasn’t _there_.

“I don’t know it,” he said, keeping his voice as firm as he could. “I haven’t eaten a spicy before.” He waited for a reaction, but all they did was look at each other again. They still didn’t seem mad, at least.

“Well, if it’s too hot we can find you something else,” Jaster said after a moment. “And there’s koshar melon for after, that’s not spicy at all. Come sit down.” He gestured toward a chair at the table, like he wanted Maul to sit in it. With them.

Maul stared, his chest feeling weird and tight. Jaster wanted him...to sit with them? There was no ration bar on the table, there was an extra box, and he wanted Maul to _sit at the table_. Was—was the extra box for _Maul?_ It didn’t make any sense, but _nothing_ made sense off Mustafar, so he would just—he would do it, and see what happened.

Slowly, he edged over to the table and tugged the chair out a little. With a careful eye on both of them, he hopped up into the chair, setting his club on across his legs. As soon as Maul was settled in the chair, Jaster slid the box and a spoon over to rest in front of him. Maul tried to think how it could be a trick, but...Jaster was smiling _again_ , and it wasn’t a sharp smile, it was...warm.

“If you tip the helmet back,” Jango said suddenly, making Maul jump, “You should be able to eat with it still on.”

Maul reached up to touch the metal, swallowing roughly. “If I do, will it still work?”

They looked at each other again, and Jaster leaned forward with his arms on the table. “Work for _what,_ exactly?” he asked. “Why do you need my helmet?”

Maul stilled, thinking furiously. If he told them about Master, they could tell Master where he was, or—or send him back to Mustafar, or to Tosste. But if they were going to trade the helmet for something else that he could _keep_ then they needed to know it was to keep Master out of his head, didn’t they? If it could do that, it could probably do _lots_ of things, and he only needed the one thing, so he had to be specific. But if he was _too_ specific, they might figure it out, and—and do something, he didn’t know what, but they could do _something bad_ if they knew.

“My head—it hurts, sometimes,” he said hesitantly, wary. “It—it scratches and burns, and—I put it on, the—the helmet, and it stopped.”

Jaster started frowning, but he didn’t look _mad_ just...frowny. “Do you know why your head hurts? And _how_ the helmet makes it stop?”

“No,” Maul answered quickly, his voice tight. “I d-don’t know that.”

* * *

Jaster leaned back in his chair, considering the obvious lie carefully. There were a number of things that could cause headaches, and he was sure if he asked a medic he’d learn about a good number more, but for any of those things to be fixed just by putting on a helmet? Fixed instantly, at that? Very unlikely. A helmet being able to block some kind of signal, or other outside source of the pain, that seemed far more plausible. Which meant something external was harming the kid. And if it was external, it was _possible_ that there would be some way to detect and track that source.

And if that source was whatever had put all those scars on Maul, had taught him that every single person he encountered was a potential source of pain, well. Jaster had some ideas for how to deal with _that_.

“Alright,” he said finally, pleased to see a bit of tension drain out of the boy as his lie went unchallenged. “Why don’t you tip it up enough to eat, and see if it keeps working. It’ll be a lot harder to eat if it doesn’t, but I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out.”

Maul hesitated, his fingers still resting on the front of Jaster’s helmet as though to reassure himself it was still there, then slowly eased it up to expose his chin. He stopped there for a moment, then swallowed visibly and pushed it up to his nose. Jaster found himself holding his breath as he watched for any signs of pain, but Maul didn’t flinch. He tipped it up just a bit more, until Jaster could just see his eyes under the edge of the metal. Wide, darting between Jaster and his son, tense at the corners, and a bright gold with a touch of red.

His eyes fixed on Jaster after a moment, one hand still clutching at the bottom edge of the helmet, the other reaching out to hesitantly tap the box in front of him. “Eat...this? Not—not a ration?” His voice was tense, but with a strong undertone of confusion that set alarms going off in the back of Jaster’s mind.

“Yes,” Jaster said calmly but firm, leaving no room for doubt. “That box is all for you, eat everything in it if you want to. If you don’t like it, we’ll give you something else.”

“The buns are full of meat,” Jango, already half done with his arguez sausage stew, chimed in with his mouth full again because he had absolutely no respect for his buir. “Spicy, but sweet too. You should try that first.”

“He can pick what he wants to try first,” Jaster said, kicking his son in the leg as subtly as he could and pairing it with a meaningful glance.

Jango winced apologetically. “Right, yeah, eat whatever you want, just a suggestion.”

Maul flicked his gaze between them again, searching for _something_ with wary eyes, but it seemed he didn’t find it. He popped open the box carefully, easing the lid up with one finger, but as soon as his eyes caught the vibrant red of the stew and the golden, pillowy buns, he seemed to forget Jaster and Jango even existed, for a moment.

The moment didn’t last long, that wary stare twitching back up, but the kid did reach for one of the dao-ben, pulling it up to his mouth for a hesitant nibble. Jaster heard Maul’s breath catch as his teeth sank into the soft dough, and the boy froze for a moment before a faint shiver rattled his frame. He didn’t say anything, but he did curl around the bun as he ate it slowly, wide eyes still watching Jaster and Jango like a feral loth kit in a trap, ready to bite if they got too close.

Judging that Maul had gotten far enough into the bun to get to the filling, and not wanting him to force himself to eat it if it was too spicy, Jaster gave the boy a nod and an encouraging smile before asking, “Do you like it?”

Maul paused again, his hand tightening until his small fingers were digging into the fluffy roll like he was worried Jaster would take it from him, but nodded hesitantly.

“Good,” Jaster said softly, then turned his attention to his own food and let Maul eat at his own pace. Maybe if they weren’t so obvious about watching him, he’d be more comfortable eating in front of them.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jango still watching the boy, obviously curious. He nudged his son’s leg with his toes, then looked meaningfully down at his own food when Jango turned to face him. With a look of understanding, Jango tipped his chin in a barely perceptible nod, then turned his shoulders a bit away from the boy and conspicuously focused on polishing off his meal. Hopefully the lack of attention would encourage Maul to finish his meal, he clearly needed every calorie they could get into him.

Ah, _fuck_. He still needed to come up with a step three, didn’t he?

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates alternating with _lost beneath the turning wheel_ with occasional dips into other things~


End file.
